


The Art of Self-Destruction

by von_gelmini



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Coping Skills, Emotional Trauma, Grieving, M/M, Masturbation, More to be added as work progresses, Panic Attacks, Past Domestic Violence, Past Prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, nascent anyway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-23 22:10:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6131713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gelmini/pseuds/von_gelmini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another nightmare. Eggsy doesn't remember it. He doesn't need to remember them anymore. There is only <i>The Nightmare</i>. And he won't ever wake up from it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eggsy Unwin Saves the World. Title of his autobiography. Only thing is, saving the world meant sending it deeper into the shit than it ever had been before. In the aftermath, he wonders if Eggsy Unwin did the world any favors. He knows the world didn't do Eggsy Unwin any.

He comes home to Galahad's house after a string of as many missions as Merlin will let him get away with. They both know he's running as fast as he can. They both know why. But the body can take only so much abuse before reaction time slows and the mission suffers. So he's sent home. Galahad's house. His house. _His_ house. 

Eggsy's kept the place a shrine. A mausoleum. Only dead things live here, a sign on the door might as well say. Dozens of dead butterflies, one dead dog, a dead man walking, and a ghost. 

Eggsy occupies only the barest minimum of space in the house. Even in the guest room he's claimed as his own. He works around the decorative knick knacks on the dresser, puts his clothes in the spaces left by the spare linens in the drawers, carefully finds a few inches of hanging rod in the small closet. Everything is exactly as it was _That Day_. 

That's how Eggsy thinks now. In capitals. In italics. _That Day. Him. His. **Harry**_. 

He folds down the duvet and slips into the narrow bed. Hidden there is the only bit of disturbance to the shrine he allows. One of _His_ shirts from the dirty laundry basket in the master bedroom. It still smells like _Him_. When it doesn't any longer, he'll exchange it for another from the basket. He's used three so far. He doesn't know what he'll do when the last of the laundry smells more like him than _Him_. He doesn't dare think that far ahead.

The glow of the clock tells him he slept for eighty seven minutes. His watch shows his heart rate at 180 bpm. His t-shirt and pillow are drenched in sweat. Another nightmare. Eggsy doesn't remember it. He doesn't need to remember them anymore. There is only _The Nightmare_. And he won't ever wake up from it. 

It will take between twenty and forty minutes for the sleeping tablets to work. He only takes them after he's already had one nightmare. The body needs at least one cycle of REM sleep per 24 hours. To suppress more is dangerous. To endure more nightmares is also dangerous. So he takes the pills even though it means headaches come morning. He'll need three days off mission before he's field-ready again. 

That's three days Kingsman can scant afford. The Table’s down to four Knights. Galahad, Lancelot, Percival, and Bors. With Merlin pulling double duty as wizard and interim King. 

Tristan had the misfortune to be sitting between Pellinore and Ector in the cafeteria when the latter two’s heads exploded. Both names will be retired as traitors. Their replacements will carry new names. Tristan is alive, but in medical, in the same sort of chemical-soup induced coma the previous Galahad ( _how many ways can I avoid saying_ His _name?_ ) had been in after Professor Arnold. 

Kay was killed in the V-day madness while on mission in Beijing. Gawain committed suicide after his Kingsman training was used against him and he murdered his wife, mother-in-law, and four children. 

Of support staff, one entire shift was safe by virtue of being at HQ at the right time. The other two shifts were down half each from the fighting and aftermath. Gawain wasn't the only one who went the way he did. Kingsman expected all its staff to have combat training. Good policy for an invasion, bad policy for any loved ones nearby on V-day.

Eggsy has three days in which he is ordered to rest. By any means necessary, as the saying goes. In researching that, he and Merlin set the guidelines. One nightmare. Sleeping tablets. Out of bed until they begin to work. Lying restless in bed is not conducive to falling back to sleep. To that end, Eggsy pads down the hall, wearing the spare bathrobe (not _His_ ; that still smells too much of _Him_ and is worn only on _Very Bad Nights_ ), to the office. 

Here, not even the dust has been disturbed. Only the chair and the laptop and the space on the desk in front of the laptop where he rests his arms, are clear. He knows the password. He figured it out when… ( _Stop being ridiculous and superstitious_.) Before… ( _Deep breaths_.) 

When Harry left for Kentucky, while Eggsy was staring at Mr. Pickle, while he was packing, Harry changed his password. Changed it to **Eggsy**. That's how Eggsy was able to watch the church. And the… the… _After_. 

It's how Eggsy found Harry's will. He'd also changed that. It was probably a boilerplate and Harry just changed the beneficiary to Eggsy ( _from who? Merlin? Family?_ ) in those few minutes. And then he left. And nothing was ever sorted when he got home. Because he never got home. Not even a body got home. A tiny bit of Eggsy wanted to cling to hope. No body means not dead, right? But it ain't that kind of movie and after four months, they finally drank the proper memorial toast and knighted Eggsy as Galahad. That was two months ago.

On these nights while waiting for the sleeping pills to work, Eggsy reads the Galahad files on the laptop in the office. Galahad was one of the six original Kingsman knights. The original knights’ cover names matched their actual initials, except for Arthur. Arthur I had actually been Arthur. The rest were Lancelot, Ector, Kay, Bors, Caradoc (his name retired for treachery, beginning that particular custom), and Galahad. 

Galahad I held the post from 1918 to 1932, when a failed mission in Germany killed him. Galahad II made it through the Second World War only to be killed ignominiously by a bad tooth in 1946. The third of his name was killed after only two years trying to thwart the Czechoslovak coup. Number four went missing in China and was declared dead in 1952. Five had a relatively long and glorious career during the Cold War falling again in Czechoslovakia in 1968.

“Merlin?”

“Yes, Galahad?”

“I ain't going to Czech or Slovakia or any combination of them places.”

Laughter. “All right Eggsy. I'll send one of the others if one of ‘them places’ comes up. Reading the Galahad histories?”

“Uh huh.”

“Go to bed, Eggsy.”

“In a minute.”

The Colin Baker Galahad, six for you unfortunates who've never watched Doctor Who, died in 1980 in Moscow thanks to some bad American intel. Thanks Reagan. Your balloons didn't work as specified, why should your intel?

Which made Harry Sylvester McCoy.

“Merlin!”

“Sleep, Eggsy.”

“Merlin, I am _not_ Paul McGann!”

The Scot paused a second and then roared laughing. “Oh you so are, lad."

“Well fuck! Why can't I be Eccleston or Tennant? They were cool.”

“Go to bed Eggsy. Judging by your vitals, your medicine has had time to work. To bed before you fall asleep at hi… your desk again.”

And there it was, reality again. The slip was small. Someone else wouldn't have noticed. Merlin must be exhausted to have made it.

Even with the sleeping tablets, sleep was long in coming. But come it did, in all it's glorious dreamlessness.  



	2. Chapter 2

The guest room window faces east and even with curtains drawn, the morning sun finds its way in. A knife-like sliver of light lands across Eggsy's face, waking him. Groaning in complaint, he sits up and takes two paracetamols from the bottle next to the sleeping pills he took last night. As he swallows them with the half-full bottle of water he'd left on the nightstand, he wishes yet again that the little guest room had blackout curtains. But the room had been rarely used and was impractically decorated. It’s his house now. He could always buy new curtains. He could even sleep in the west-facing master bedroom if he wanted.

Maybe next time.

Meanwhile, day one of his Kingsman banishment stretches before him. These three days, like the nights, have a plan developed for them. It was designed to maximize his recovery from the inevitable routine exhaustion. And minimize opportunity to begin to spiral downward with his thoughts.

Releasing the stress in his body is easy. After waking, he does a ten mile run in the park, weather permitting. Weather not permitting, there is a treadmill in the basement. Eggsy doesn't like the basement though. He imagines it's because Harry never showed it to him during their time together. The space seems foreign and dangerous. And yet he can see unexplored bits of Harry's life everywhere. So the treadmill’s never been used. If the weather’s too bad, he drags himself down to the local Fitness First to use one of theirs.

Today though, the sun is shining and Eggsy finds himself actually looking forward to the park. He's hit that relatively uncrowded sweet spot. The serious runners were done long ago, the straggling cubicle runners are just finishing before heading off to their cubicles, and the yummy mummy crowd hasn't yet arrived. 

The first few laps of his run he's distracted. He keeps rapidly pushing thoughts aside. The last mission? No. He'll write the debrief tonight. Don't want to overthink it. The new recruits? He already had a mate from his time in the marines going in the current crop for Gawain. Merlin wants two more candidates so they can overlap the recruiting classes for Pellinore and Ector. Too many positions empty, but standards can't be dropped too far. Thing is, Eggsy doesn't know who to propose. Mates are in short supply these days. _And that's a line of thought I'm not going down._ He figures he'll ask Merlin or Percival for ideas.

Before long, the thoughts drop away and the endorphins kick in. Eggsy settles into as much peace as he ever gets these days. He likes running. Running is good.

Of course running is pretty much a metaphor for his life, and eventually the run ends. Back at _Har_ … at Galahad's house, he takes a long, steaming hot shower. It's his scheduled self-indulgence time. It's when he lets himself think all those dangerous thoughts he avoids 24/7. Releasing the stress in his mind is a lot harder and more painful than a ten mile run.

He runs the flannel over his shoulder, remembering the times Harry's hand rested there. In the pub after taking down Dean’s dogs and giving him the biggest boner of his life. Twice at HQ after passing challenges before his coma. And here in this house. After one too many martinis, after the ill-thought out and clumsy kiss he'd pressed to Harry's lips, after stumbling to Harry's bedroom. That hand on his shoulder guiding Eggsy down to the bed for a lesson in proper gentlemanly (fucking _filthy_ ) kissing. Then resting lightly on his shoulder as Eggsy slid off the bed and down to his knees. Only a little later clutching bruisingly hard as Harry groans, begging Eggsy to stop so it’s not over before it begins.

Eyes squeezed shut, Eggsy forgets the flannel and his hand slides down his body. Touching everywhere Harry kissed, worshipping him, praising him, voice ragged low and in awe of him. Hand lower, he strokes himself through the memories. Harry's mouth on his cock. Harry's hands on the backs of his thighs, pushing them up, spreading his legs, exposing him. That almost reverent little moan of desire just before Harry's tongue swipes long and wet across his hole.

Eggsy leans his shoulders on the tile, arching his back, pushing fast into the tight circle of his fist as Harry pushes into him. The desperate groan Harry makes as he bottoms out deep inside Eggsy's heat. The way Eggsy's name sounds falling from Harry's lips. His own keening whine while Harry plunges into him and takes him apart. Then, just as now, he screams out Harry's name. 

The hot water spray tastes tainted by salt as it slides over his face and splashes off his tongue. His legs give and Eggsy's shoulders slide down the tile as he remembers the hot weighty press of Harry's body — trembling, sweat-soaked, ragged, spent. And the way it made Eggsy feel peaceful, safe, cherished, _loved._

Eggsy sits on the shower floor. Crying is such an insufficient word to describe the great heaving sobs wracking his body. 

By the time he can raise his head up from his knees, the water’s long since gone cold. He wraps a towel around his waist and falls back into his little guest bed, where he sleeps for ninety three minutes until the heart rate monitor on his watch wakes him up again.

~*~*~

This time when he wakes, Eggsy dresses himself properly, not in jogging sweats. Jeans, trainers ( _not ever the winged ones_ ), grey polo, jacket ( _not ever the plaque one_ ). He's happy to be able to forgo the full Kingsman suit for a change. He's happy not to have to… _perform_ Harry. He can be himself. ( _If I can remember what that's supposed to be._ ) He's debating in which direction on the mental flowchart to take his day when his phone beeps.

//You need to eat, Eggsy.// 

Merlin chiding him through text is less intrusive than nagging in his ear over the glasses. He doesn't wear his glasses at home anyway. 

Well, that's that decided. He tosses a few things for the day into a backpack and heads around the corner to the pub for a burger. He can tell he's hungry, he just hasn't much of an appetite. Only the first bite or two of anything has any flavor. So, like the rest of his non-mission life, he has routines to guide him. Even if you want to stop eating, look at your plate. Eat until at least half of the food is consumed. Preferably three-quarters. Ideally, all. Without any desire, it's just mechanical. 

He drinks water, even though he'd murder a pint. He spent the entirety of his first mandatory down time drunk. The second and third, too. He'll still be drinking this time, he just doesn't allow himself to start until after dinner. Sun up til sun down sober. The rest, well, it's not like he has to be anywhere.

The run and his shower must've worn his body down. Without realizing, Eggsy manages to clean his plate. Merlin will be proud. He sends him a picture of the empty plate. No need to make the man worry about him. He has more than enough to do.

After lunch, Eggsy walks the three blocks to his mum’s house. When Eggsy moved into the Galahad house, Kingsman had found a separate house for his mother and Daisy. It is a lovely little mews house with three bedrooms and a small terrace so Daisy and JB can play outside. In addition, there is a panic room and every inch of the home has surveillance on a private feed direct to the security division at HQ. Given it’s also in Knightsbridge, the place had to have at least a five million price tag even before the Kingsman upgrades, but Merlin insisted. It was important for Eggsy's mental health, and therefore his ability to function his best as an agent, to know that his family was safe while he was away. 

Michelle comes to the door with a smile, looking nothing at all like the worn down woman she was little over a year ago. Eggsy only has time to give her a peck on the cheek before his legs are tackled. Bending down, he wraps his arms around his sister and hugs her tightly. He's only been away for two weeks this time, but he misses her. 

Harry had his walls of newspapers to remind him of the world still innocently turning after each mission. Eggsy has Daisy. He buries his face in her golden blonde curls, breathing in deep the mix of baby shampoo, his mum’s perfume, and sugar. This right here, _this_ is why he shot five henchmen in Tbilisi, why he systematically clipped off a man’s fingers at the first joint for information in Belgrade, why he waited on a rooftop for two sodden days in Kiev waiting for his mark to come in range of his CheyTac .408, and why he let a man he found utterly repulsive fuck him in Madrid. 

Each mission Eggsy completes means Daisy gets to spend one more day blissfully unaware of how evil the world really is. So if he holds her a little longer, a little tighter the first time he sees her whenever he's home, he can be forgiven. His mum knows and gives him space, moving to the kitchen to set the kettle on. Even Daisy seems to sense Eggsy's need, stilling her three-year-old wiggles as long as she can. But finally she breaks free, plants a sticky kiss on Eggsy's cheek, and drags him into the kitchen to show him her latest batch of drawings on the fridge. 

Eggsy sends his sister to bring his backpack and sits heavily at the kitchen table. He's had tea at some of the finest tea houses in the world, but nothing taste as good as the milky sweet liquid his mother sets in front of him.

“Bad couple a’weeks, luv?”

Eggsy shrugs. “Th’ usual. Get in, let the training do its job, get out. Rinse. Repeat. It's kinda good actually, y’know? That bit. I know what I'm doing. Ya don't gotta worry.”

“‘S my job. Yeh save th’ world, I worry.” She smiles at Daisy. “Whatcha got there, darlin’?”

Daisy sets the backpack between Eggsy's feet. “My prezzy.” She looks at Michelle like it should be the most obvious thing in the world and then grins up at Eggsy.

He takes the box out, opens it and hands Daisy a big round snow globe of St. Sophia’s cathedral with its green onion domes. She shakes it then presses her face close, examining the strangeness of the building as it gets obscured by white.

“Where yeh got it, Eggsy? ‘S so pretty!” She shakes it again.

“A place far far away called Kiev, my flowah. An’ yer prettier.” He kisses her on the forehead and she runs off to put the new bauble with the other six, one for each mandatory rest period Eggsy's had so far. Daisy knows it's time for the boring grown-up talk but they wait for a few minutes, until they hear her playing upstairs.

“Yer lookin’ good, mum.”

“Good thing fer ’t, cos yeh look shite.”

Eggsy draws a shuddering breath and lets it out slowly. He doesn't answer.

“Eggsy?” Michelle reaches out and lays her hand on Eggsy's forearm. He jerks back and wraps both arms around himself, out of her reach. “Yeh think I don't, but I know,” she says comfortingly.

“No.” He yells at her and pushes back hard from the table, standing, desperate to escape. He immediately regrets it when he sees her flinch. She's come a long way since leaving Dean, but the habit of that many years isn't quickly broken. Eggsy stands stock-still, horrified at what he's done. Slowly, carefully, he sits back down. “You don't, mum. You just don't know.” He hates the way his voice cracks. “Now leave it. Please?” 

“What don' I know, luv?” Her words are soft and sad. “I don' know what it feels like to lose the one person yeh love more’n your own life? Is tha’ what I don’ know?”

His mouth pulls tight and his eyes blink closed oh so slowly. “How?” he whispers, opening them and feeling the burn of unspilled tears glassing them over. He covers his mouth with a hand to make sure his voice is steadied. “I never said.”

“Didn't hafta now did ya? I know wha’ it looks like. Saw it in th’ mirror long enough. Did he know, your Harry? Tha’ yeh loved him?”

“I think. Maybe. I dunno. Mighta done if I hadn’ fucked it all up. Merlin said…” Eggsy chokes on the words. “Said Harry tol’ him he'd have it out wif Arfur. He'd sor’ it for me. But we was so mad at each ovver, mum. I said shite ya shouldn’ say t’ no one never. An’… an’ now? I can't take it back. He won’ never know.” He's crying now. At least it's just regular crying, he thinks to himself. He can make himself stop. 

“He knows, luv.”

“Don’ give me tha’ heaven shite.”

“I ain't. I wouldn’. But he tol’ his best mate, righ’? He was gonna fix it for yeh. People don’ fix nuthin’ if things still bad, now do they? He knew. He was just right pissed at yeh, tha’s all. Yeh didn’ mean none o’ them words yeh said, didja?”

He shakes his head.

“So why yeh think he meant ‘em as he said?” Michelle looks at him hard. “Because yeh think yeh deserve it? Yeh ain't worth no one nice-like lovin’ yeh?” She can see the realization dawn in him. “Uh huh.” Her voice softens again. “I know, baby. I _know_.”

All of Eggsy's hopes at nice quiet dignified tears are lost. He falls out on his knees and wraps his arm around his mother’s waist, sobbing against her like he used to as a child. “I love him so much. I miss him. The minute things stop, I can't stand how much I miss him.”

_I'd rather be with Harry. Thanks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm impatient :) So I'll be trying for updates on Monday and Wednesday. 
> 
> I'm over on tumblr at [von--gelmini](von--gelmini.tumblr.com). Stop by and say hi sometime.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, couldn't wait til Monday. Sundays work better for me anyway. So Sunday/Wednesday. I'm not used to doing this WIP thing, sorry. A bit of a long chapter this time. I'm getting close to the end of what I have pre-written and I need some motivation to finish the middle bits. 
> 
> I know it's all angst at this point, but I promise, there is a light at the end of the tunnel (and it's not a tube train coming). Oh yeah. And this chapter has my headcanon/theory about why the dog test is a legit thing.

He stays for dinner and to play with Daisy before he begs off saying he's got a ton of reports to file. By the time he leaves, it's dark. Drinking time. Only Roxy’s off in Thailand, Jamal’s dead, and Ryan… Ryan's still in the rehab hospital learning how to walk with no legs. Bloody bus went out of control and done ‘em over. Eggsy knows he should visit him more. He used to. Only the last time he visited, they'd just fitted Ryan out with his prosthetics. They were simple, hadn't looked anything like hers, not really. But Eggsy hasn't been back since. He can't even tell Ryan why. V-day and Eggsy's part in it is classified. It’s best if he just rejects Ryan's calls. He'll get over it and find new mates. Besides, all they used to do is cry over Jamal, and Eggsy's become far too selfish with his tears.

He taps his glasses. “Merlin? Can I come by HQ to do my paperwork?”

“No.” Merlin sounds busy.

“Come out an’ have a drink wif us.”

Merlin's tone softens. “I'd like nothing more, lad. But I've got three agents in the field and a mountain of my own paperwork to handle.”

“Three?” Eggsy's prospects are looking up! “Who’s in?”

Merlin laughs. “You are, you daft bugger.”

“Oh.” He sounds crestfallen. “Think Tris is up for a pint?” He well knows the man’s still in a coma.

“I'll ask him.” Merlin pauses a beat. “Says he's too busy with his hand up matron’s skirt for the likes of you.”

“A’ight mate. On me own tonight then. Always did pull better like tha’ anyways. G’night bruv.”

“Take care, Eggsy.”

Eggsy actually considers it for a moment. Tempted to find something other than his fist and a ghost to fuck. Not that it worked out so well last time he tried. Poor fucker had innocently enough tangled his fingers in Eggsy's hair during a blow job and got himself a broken arm for the trouble. _Harry_ had done that. Caressed the back of his head. Let his fingers play in Eggsy's hair. Eggsy can't stand the thought of someone imprinting over his body’s memory of that night. It's bad enough when someone has to touch him for a mission, but if he goes on his own and does something to make himself forget? He doesn't want to forget. Not ever. Even if it means never having sex again. That memory is all he has left. How could he even think about making himself forget?

Getting drunk in pubs is shit when you're on your own. Too risky as well. Eggsy either gets gabby or goes looking for a fight. The things he could gab about are classified, and with his training, he could hurt someone bad just for looking at him cross-eyed. No, pubs are right out.

Off-license shops aren't though. He makes a detour and comes back with two carrier bags full, dumping more cash on just one of the bottles in them than he would've seen in a whole month's takings before. He's getting spoilt now, he thinks. A £9 bottle of Aldi’s will get you just as pissed as a £300 Macallan. But if he’s drinking to _Harry_ , it should be with something a gentleman would drink.

Eggsy starts off slow. He does have a mountain of paperwork to do, that part wasn't a lie. He sets up in the dining room, his briefcase spilling classified folders all over the table, the carrier bags emptied on the sideboard behind him within easy reach. He uses his own laptop for work. The one in the office upstairs is for something else. He's not much at this computer shite and he's afraid a wrongly hit key could bollocks the thing up. Besides, last time he tried working _Up There_ he wound up in a ball in the corner with Merlin having his arse the next morning for not having his mission report done.

One bottle empty and another well started, Eggsy gives up on the reports. Because — “And once he fell asleep I double tapped the pillock. Cos if you're gonna fuck me, you'd better have more than a three inch dick, right? I ain't had to fake cumming since I was on the corner. I was fucking _insulted_. Don't give me no shit about it either, Merlin. I did the world a fucking favor.” — is hardly professional way to explain going off-brief.

Foregoing the glass, he grabs the bottle by the neck and stumbles up the stairs. He’s planning on heading to his room so that when he finally passed out, he’s at least somewhere comfortable. Only he doesn't get passed the closed door at the top of the stairs when his feet won't go any further. 

Eggsy stands there and stares at the flat plank of wood in front of him. He swigs twice as hard and twice as fast until his whole world starts spinning and he notices his hand is on the doorknob. He tips forward until he's stopped by his head hitting the door, staring at his trainers and the scotch pooling underneath them from the dropped bottle. Scotch underneath and tears on the tops. Well fuck. That's this pair done right in.

One hand on the door knob, the other splayed out flat on the door, and the only thing keeping him standing is his fucking head. And he can't fucking stop crying, he curses angrily at himself. Six fucking months and it's worse every fucking day. Time ain't healing this wound, it's just giving it time to fester. 

“I fuckin’ love you, Harry,” Eggsy whispers hoarsely. “Fuckin’ hate you. You left me.” He curls his fingers on the door as if he were grabbing the man himself by the lapels. He's shaking with rage, his chest heaving with sobs. “Why'd you leave me, you prick? You was supposed to come back. You _promised_.”

Eggsy feels the cold wet of spilled drink soaking through the seat of his jeans, letting him know his legs gave out. Too much trouble to make it to the guest room, he curls up in front of Harry's door like a rejected dog and passes out.

~*~*~

Eggsy wakes to his watch beeping insistently, lying in a disgusting puddle of scotch and piss to which he adds his sick when he tries to stand up. He stumbles down the hall to the bathroom and steps clothed into the shower. He strips and tosses his clothes in the corner of the stall. Tries to half-assed wash himself but he's still drunk and the world's spinning. He manages to get the worst of the filth off himself and grabs an armful of towels, throwing them on top of the mess in the hall. He'll clean it in the morning. In the guest room, he notices the light through the curtains. He'll clean it in the afternoon then. Or whenever the fuck he wakes up and is sober.

This time it's his phone that wakes him. “Fuckin’ hell, Merlin. What th’ fuck you want?” He squints and tries to bring the dial of his watch into focus. Shit. 3:43 in the afternoon. He managed to sleep for almost nine hours. There was something to be said for a scotch-induced coma.

“You need to take care of yourself, laddie.” Merlin's voice is a mix of concern and sadness. 

“Why’d you wake me up?” Eggsy pushes himself to sitting and his head spins. “Fuck. I don't know if I'm hungover or still drunk.”

“That'd be why I called.”

“Wait. My monitor didn't go off. How'd you know?” 

Merlin laughs. “You should be aware by now that I know everything. Get yourself cleaned up and get some food in your belly before you start round two.”

Ringing off, Eggsy wonders, not for the first time, if Merlin's got surveillance in the Galahad house. He knows Harry wouldn't have stood for it, but that doesn't mean the wizard mightn't have installed it while Eggsy was on mission. He shrugs it off as he downs two of the paracetamols and fights the churning in his empty stomach. If there are cameras, he'll never find them. Merlin's too good. He also knows that the security department will never abuse the feed. They have to keep the agents’ trust.

Eggsy stands out of bed, stark naked from his aborted shower that morning. He grins widely and waves for the cameras at no place in particular. A proper, but quick, shower this time and afterwards a thorough clean up of the hall. Once he gets going, he might as well clean the rest of the parts of the house he lives in. 

It's dark before he finishes. There are two full bottles left on the sideboard and he considers it. If he just starts in, well then there's nothing much to come up if he drinks himself sick again. He sits at the head of the table, in _His_ chair, and stares at the bottles for a good few minutes. The sweet unconsciousness they hold is so tempting. Drink, pass out, wake up, and do it again until it's time to go back to HQ. Nurse the mother of all hangovers, and wait for his next assignment. God yes. No thinking about anything. Of course it doesn't actually work like that. The thoughts only go away once he passes out. Before that, it's nothing _but_ thoughts. And pain. And tears. 

He understands his mum so much better now. How tempting it had to have been for her when Dean came around with his drugs and sex to take her mind off what she'd lost. How it never really did anymore than it does now for him, so she just kept getting sadder and weaker until it was too late. She'd lost so much of herself she just shut down and never noticed what was the bastard was doing to her son. He always knew that it wasn't really his mum's fault, tried hard not to ever blame her. But knowing is different from understanding. Now he understands too well. So fucking _tempting_.

But instead he picks up his phone and makes reservations at San Lorenzo for seven. Table for one. Name of Hart. They know him there. Know his name isn't Hart, but that doesn't matter. The maitre’d shows him to the table. Harry had promised to take Eggsy to his favorite restaurant to celebrate his knighthood. He was so certain Eggsy would make it. Then Eggsy had to throw it all away because he couldn't shoot J.B. He couldn't kill an innocent thing that had done nothing but trust him. Harry should've known that he wouldn't be able to do it. He hadn't been able to run over a fox to stay out of jail, he sure the fuck wasn't going to shoot a dog to get a job.

The night after the Table drank the toast to their fallen Galahad and passed that title on to the eighth of that name, Eggsy begged off the celebration at the shop and came to Ristorante San Lorenzo alone. The waitress was so nice. He asked if she remembered Mr. Hart. She did. He asked if there had been something usual that he ordered and could he please have that. Eggsy could pretend that it was almost like Harry had ordered for him. _You must try this, Eggsy. The Saltimbocca alla Romana here is quite the best thing I've ever tasted_. When he finished his celebratory dinner and was leaving, the waitress told Eggsy she was sorry for his loss. He just nodded silently and made certain he tipped her well. 

It was a common assumption in the post V-day world. The final estimate was that London had lost nearly one percent of its population. It didn't sound like much, but it was close to a hundred thousand people dead. At least twice as many injured. And for the world? Around three percent. Many countries, including China weren't releasing their numbers, so it was hard to tell exactly. Numbers were lower in countries with better weapons controls, but higher in those without, so it all evened out. In the time it had taken Eggsy to finally kill Valentine, in just those few minutes, two hundred million people had died. And then as the coup de grace, Eggsy ordered the death of much of the political leadership of the Western world when he had Merlin activate the chips. Eggsy had the highest kill count of any agent in the history of Kingsman. 

Eggsy is lost in thought when his veal arrives. He smiles wanly at Maria ( _It's really Mary, but we’re supposed to be Italian_ ) and asks after her brother. Doing better, she tells him hopefully. Eggsy had been curious and looked the man up. He was in a convalescent hospital, unlikely to wake after taking a cricket bat to the head at a game. A mysterious benefactor had him moved to a much nicer private facility. Not for his benefit, he was nearly brain dead, but so Mary and her family didn't have to visit an overcrowded and under cared for public hospital. 

It's not like Eggsy needs the money. Aside from his outrageous salary, there’s what Harry left him. That kind of money is beyond his understanding. So he does things like this when he can. He paid for Jamal and the others he knew from the estate to have a proper funeral instead of going in a mass grave. Paid for Ryan’s rehab. Made a trust for Daisy and his mum. Never tips less than £100, even slipping a few quid to the clerk at McDonald's. Little personal shit like that. Doesn't matter one bit in the grand scheme of things, won't ever begin to fix the damage he's done. 

The first few bites of his dinner are delicious, but before long he's lost in thought again, putting fork to mouth like a robot. Once things are settled, he thinks. When the Table’s full again and they've got a new Arthur. Once he's sure his mum’s properly recovered from that arsehole Dean. When Daisy goes off to school so she'll be busy with her new life and maybe won't miss him too much. He closes his eyes and sighs before taking another bite. Maybe then this can all end.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. Eggsy hates taking a call in a restaurant. It's not something a gentleman does, but he knows better than to not answer Merlin's call. He crosses his cutlery on his plate to signal he's finished eating, and makes his way to the hall by the loo. 

“Enjoying your supper?” Merlin asks.

“Eating it,” Eggsy answers.

“Really, you should try the osso buco sometime.”

“What is it?”

“Beef knuckle with risotto.”

“No, yeh berk. I know what osso buco is. What is it yeh called me for?”

“We’re doing the train test tomorrow night.”

“Fuck. Seriously? Mitchell made it that far?”

“If you read any of the briefings I send you, you'd know that.” Eggsy can hear his exasperated sigh and imagine the way he runs his fingers on the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Since you're in town, do you want to do the 24 hours?”

Eggsy’s hand starts to shake and his head spin. He should. Mitchell’s a good bloke and Eggsy's been absent for most of his training. But that means having him in _His_ house. Having to explain things like locked doors and undisturbed shelves. Things he can't even explain to himself.

Merlin hears the silence on Eggsy's end. “I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry.”

“I just… Can you tell him I'm on a mission? I can't, Merlin.” He winces at how pitifully weak his voice sounds.

Briefly he reconsiders. If he takes Mitchell for his 24 hours, maybe he can work it out to where they stay out of the house most of the time. Then when they do have to come back, Eggsy can give him the guest room and he can sleep on the sofa. It would give him something to keep himself busy at least. But he has no idea what sage words of wisdom he can give his old friend at this point. Run fast and don't get killed? 

“Roxy will be back by morning. If he passes, she can take him, don't worry. But Eggsy? Next time, yeah?”

Eggsy nods then realizes Merlin can't see the motion over the phone like he does when he wears his glasses. “Yeah,” he answers then hangs up the phone. Maybe in another six months he'll be ready, he thinks. He knows full well he won't be.

Roxy will do a better job of it. She can actually teach him something other than: You're going to die and if you don't, you'll wind up wanting to. You'll be married to the job and you'll lose track of everyone you knew before. Your only friends will be other agents, who will also die. Your family will live under constant surveillance. They'll be threatened and will probably be killed because of you. You'll have to kill more people than you can count. You'll become all too familiar with the words ‘collateral damage’ and you won't care. Your mistakes could cost a young boy his father, or the world three percent of its population. And you'll have to be willing to shoot a god damned dog you raised from a pup and who looks to you for protection. Because the lesson isn't "will you'll blindly obey orders?", it's "will you kill your mum, your sister, your daughter, and trust that it's for the ‘greater good’?" _That's_ the real fucking lesson. 

He decides to let one of the others find his next candidate. Eggsy shouldn't even be a Knight. He failed the test. He's willing to die for Kingsman, for _Harry_ , but there isn't a universe in which he will ever be able to ‘shoot the dog’. 

Yeah, Roxy should definitely take Mitchell.

The chocolate panna cotta is waiting on his table when he returns. He can't help but smile at Harry's sweet tooth. It is delicious though.

Dinner over, Eggsy's back to the problem of waiting paperwork and scotch at home and nothing else to do. He brings the paperwork into the living room and puts the TV on. He manages to finish all four mission reports as well as so much administrative bullshit his brain's gone numb, but he goes up to his bed sober and counts that as an accomplishment.


	4. Chapter 4

And… he can't sleep. Can't take the sleeping tablets until he's had one sleep cycle. Can't drink himself into passing out again. Not without risking Merlin putting him on extended desk duty and by now he's itching to get back in the field. 

He hasn't slept properly since his 24 hours six months ago. It had been so easy that night. Curled up in Harry's arms, all warm and safe and totally fucked out. They laid together kissing lazily until one would drift asleep, then the other. Waking for just one more kiss. Smiling into it. Then in the morning starting exactly as they’d left off. 

They’d been unable to keep their hands off each other as they washed and dressed, as Harry cooked breakfast. Of course he had to turn breakfast into another lesson, but Eggsy didn't mind. He got to watch Harry move about in his white shirt and apron, admiring his muscles, teasing him about how fit he was. And teasing him more directly. Until the breakfast was hastily pushed aside and Eggsy was bent over the table with Harry's cock up his ass teaching him a lesson of an entirely different sort.

Eggsy told himself it was just sex. Pre-celebratory sex, nothing more. Probably. Certainly. On Harry's part at least. Eggsy was already gone for him. If he was honest, he'd been gone for him from the moment he saw him. Wanted him a least. Fallen in love with him when he kicked Dean’s pack’s asses for sure. Just sex, but Eggsy still had hopes that morning. As they walked to the shop, he couldn't hide his excitement. He knew that he would pass the final test and be knighted. After that, then he'd have all the time in the world to make Harry fall in love with him. Everything was hope and joy and love.

And there's the fucking tears. And the pain. Like a fist to the chest. Who knew heartbreak literally hurt in your heart? Eggsy’s whole chest was tight. He couldn't breathe. Gasping for air. Heart racing. Falling out of bed, kneeling on the floor. He crawls across the hall. If only he can catch his breath! 

He reaches up, turns the knob, and falls inside kicking the door shut behind him. He never thought he'd miss Merlin's nagging, but he'd give anything to hear that annoying voice. The man’s got to be busy, not noticing Eggsy's vitals going all over the place. Of course he's busy. Agents in the field. Train test tomorrow. And then the 24 hours… Eggsy's vision starts to go blurry from hyperventilating. 

It takes awhile, but Eggsy crawls over to the bed and pulls the well-worn red robe off the end of it. Holds it close to his chest. Curls himself around it and breathes. He keeps it away from his face. He doesn't want his tears on it confusing the scent. When his breaths are coming steadily, if still hard, he puts the robe back. In its place he pulls the throw and a pillow off the chair and makes himself a pallet on the floor, almost tucked under bed. He lies there for what feels like hours. Thinking. _remembering_. Finally he sleeps.

And screams. Before the monitor in his watch even has time to go off. The sleeping tablets are in the other room, but he's too afraid to go get them. Eggsy rolls completely under the bed making sure nothing sticks out and shows from under the big duvet above. Arms and legs and hands and feet. Nothing for the monsters to get. It's safe here. Dean won't find him. Gazelle and Valentine are too stupid to look. And Harry's sleeping on top. Nothing gets through Harry. He can sleep again. Harry will keep him safe.

~*~*~

"Eggsy?”

It's dark under the bed. He's hiding. Who's he hiding from? He doesn't remember getting here. But there's someone in the house that means he needs a weapon. He twists around until he's under the head of the bed by the nightstand on the right side. Harry's side. Eggsy slept on the left. He listens closely. Whoever it is, they're downstairs in the kitchen. He knows because the switch on the old electric kettle makes a loud click when it's pressed. He reaches his hand out of the under-bed safety and feels around for the drawer. He knows there's a gun in there. Lube, condoms, a pen and paper, and a gun. Found it! He closes the drawer and gets situated under the bed again, this time at the foot. He poofs up the duvet corner just enough that he can see the floor in front of the door. And he waits.

He hears footfalls up the stairs, in the hall, in the guest room. “Eggsy? Are you here?” A woman's voice. Posh but with a worried/frightened edge beneath it. Heels click on the bathroom’s tile floor. The medicine cabinet opens and closes. Then back to the guest room to rummage around. He hears the pill bottle shake. A groan and muttered “Disgusting” as his closet — with the laundry hamper and the mess from last night in it — is opened. He imagines it must smell pretty foul. He meant to start the load before he went to bed and forgot.

Which reminds him. Under the bed, in the room with the blackout curtains, he has no idea if it's still night or gone on to morning. He checks his watch. Morning it is. 6:30 to be exact. He takes a moment to silence any alarms that might go off and give his position away. And to check it still has the requisite sleep/amnesia/death darts fully loaded.

Eggsy hears the slow soft squish of carpeted steps coming closer. He can see two distinct shadows of feet, but the door doesn't open. It sounds like a hand on the knob, but no knock comes. 

“Eggsy? Are you in Harry's room?”

He shouldn't close his eyes, but the blood is pounding in his ears and it's hot and stuffy under here and there's just not enough air. He could get out and take the fight to her, but he has the perfect angle for a shot the moment the door opens.

“Eggsy, it's Roxy. Merlin couldn't find you on the house feed and…”

“Bloody hell, Rox.” He pushes himself out from under the bed and sees the doorknob start to turn. “Please don't,” he squeaks out.

“Okay. How about I wait downstairs. I put the kettle on when I got here.”

Eggsy smiles as he puts Harry's gun back. “I know. I heard you clomping around in those bloody high heeled shoes. Click click click. Worse than J.B.’s nails. Some spy you are.”

“Fuck off and get dressed.” She starts heading down the stairs and stops to yell back. “And bring your laundry down to the machine. Rank, Eggsy.” 

Eggsy appears in the kitchen in a pair of low slung sweats and nothing else. He and Rox shared communal showers for six months. He has no modesty around her. But he also knows better than to disobey her. He's dragging his laundry bag behind him.

She sniffs and makes a face as he walks past to the washer. “Do I even want to know?”

He shrugs. “Remnants and remains. I puked and pissed my way through £600 of fine scotch whiskey. Coulda fed us for three months on that.”

She nods and pushes a mug toward him. “White and sweet, right?”

He presses the start button and then sits down, tasting the tea. “Perfect, ta.” He looks sheepish. “Thanks for taking tonight. I’m really not the one to be giving that speech.”

“Maybe next time,” she says gently.

Eggsy shakes his head. “I don't think ever, Rox. I didn't pass the test. I'm not a true believer. I prolly ain't even gonna propose anyone for the next ones. Let Merlin pick. I'm sure we got files of likelies.”

“Eggsy, you're as much a Kingsman as any of us. It's your right and responsibility to help guide our future. Do you want the Table slipping back into the domain of the Oxbridge crowd?”

“ _You're_ the Oxbridge crowd, ” Eggsy says grinning.

“I am not!” she huffs. “Papa pulled me out of RAF OCS when uncle James died, thank you very much.”

“Cos flyin’ a plane’s th’ perfect job fer someone ‘fraid a heights,” he teases.

Being the more mature one, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“Didja tell Merlin yeh found me?” She nods. “Pervy bugger’s got eyes everywhere, huh?” He glances around the kitchen ceiling. 

“Not quite everywhere. He wouldn't have gone in the bedroom or the office without your permission.”

“Nice t’ know where a bloke can have a wank in private.”

“You're doing better some? I mean, if you're sleeping in the bedroom?” Her eyebrows raise and she nods hopefully in the stairs’ direction. But it dies quickly when she sees Eggsy's reaction. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” They drink their tea in silence. “It's not ever gonna get better, Rox. Is Percy better?”

“No, but they were together for sixteen years.” She realizes her mistake too late.

Eggsy's expression shuts down hard. “Then I guess it'll get better. It's just not there yet. But you an’ Merlin gotta quit it fer fucks sake. Yer not me mum. I don’ need yeh up me arse all day.”

“I'm sorry Eggsy. I didn't mean it like that.”

He shakes his head and takes the mugs to the sink. “‘S all right. Yeh can tell th’ head snoop I'm still alive an’ll be reportin’ in as scheduled. Tell ‘im somewhere tropical’d be nice this time. Wif ‘em li’l drinks wif th’ umbrellas an’ some Bond birds in bikinis.” He pastes on his best spy’s smile and gives a wink. 

“Eggsy…”

He shrugs and looks at the floor before looking back up at her, serious again. “What do you want from me, Rox? It was one fucking night. You're right. And during training? We couldn't have spent more than a couple of weeks together all told. It's ridiculous, actually. Especially when I know I… it meant nothing to him.”

“Eggsy don't. You know that's not true. Harry cared for you.”

“He owed my dad an’ all. That's what he said before he left. It… This…” His hand is shaking as he waves it, taking in everything. “It's fucking mental. If Merlin had anywhere near a full Table I never would have been knighted, save the world or not. And you know it.” He’s gripping the back of the kitchen chair white-knuckled to keep some semblance of control. “He wasn't in love with me and I can't possibly be in love with him after a one night stand. It's fucking pathetic. So what do you want, huh? I'm doing my fucking job! Merlin has a problem with that he can fire my ass. I don't need the bloody paycheck. Harry was loaded and he left everything to me. He paid his fucking debt. I don't need any of the lot of you!” He storms through the house and up the stairs. “You know how to let yourself out. Same as you let yourself in, just backwards.” 

Eggsy goes into the guest room and slams the door before remembering that the room’s bugged. He flips a two fingered salute, flings the door wide and crosses into Harry's room, slamming that door instead. This time he grabs the gun before diving for the safety under the bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Yeah. Great plan. He used to get in this same fix when he was a little kid. Flounce out of the room mad and then realize he was trapped because coming out meant admitting defeat but he couldn't stay in there forever. Eggsy's more talented now than when he was seven. There's a tiny balcony off the window in Harry's bedroom overlooking the garden. Not even really a balcony, just a ledge and a railing so the window can be a double opening door. But that's all Eggsy needs for his escape. Balcony, railing, drain pipe, roof, over the neighbor’s roof and down onto the street a block over.

Umm… Not really. He'd only pulled on a pair of sweats before going downstairs. No shirt, no shoes, no wallet, no phone. Fuck this shit. This is ridiculous. He isn't some kid who messed up and is hiding from mummy. He is Galahad and this is Galahad's house. 

Eggsy climbs out from beneath the bed, stands in the middle of the room, and looks around. One long deep breath later he pulls the throw and pillow from under the bed, folds them carefully and returns them to the chair in the bedroom. _The chair where Harry sat after breakfast. After their_ after _breakfast. When he got himself dressed again in his suit. Sitting down and bending over to tie his oxfords. Smiling at Eggsy when he looked up because he knew Eggsy was watching him._ That chair. 

The gun goes back in the nightstand, the items in the drawer straightened as they were before he freaked out and broke into _Harry's_ room. He fixes a few more little things as he backs his way out to the door. By the time he opens it and steps into the hall, no one would ever know he'd been in there.

Eggsy glares at the corners of the ceiling in the guest room. Not that he knows where the cameras are but now he knows that they are there, he can't stop trying to guess where they are. When he goes back to HQ tomorrow, he and Merlin will be having Words, with a capital W. Meanwhile, he hopes the bastard enjoys the show. Eggsy takes a quick shower and pulls into a clean pair of jogging sweats and a t-shirt. He's a little later to start than on day one, but he still has plenty of time to clock ten miles before noon. It's the last run of his leave. Next time he gets moving this fast he's likely to be dodging bullets. He hopes that Merlin has a nice long string of missions for him. He could do with a few weeks of not being around his nannies.

He hits the shower again after his run then spends the afternoon finishing the laundry and putting the house to rights. In the morning he'll be anxious to get on his way and not want to have to deal with any of it. A call to his mum and he's heading over for supper and a longer visit than last time. This time Michelle keeps the conversation light, which Eggsy's grateful for.

Playing with Daisy is his absolute joy. For a couple hours, he almost forgets everything else. They make up stories for her dolls, Eggsy following her lead. When it's time for pudding, the entire assembly of Barbies, Disney fairies, and teddy bears are sitting patiently waiting their tea and cake at the little table in her room. Eggsy's been teaching her proper manners. ( _Ah, there's that pain come slipping ‘round again._ ) She sternly corrects Tinkerbell when the little fairy forgets to hold her pinky out. But she's much more forgiving when Paddington spills tea on her dress. She sends her brother for a towel and Eggsy cleans up ‘Mr. Bear’s’ mess. Eventually tea is over, the last story read, and his precious flower is kissed and tucked into bed.

Downstairs, his mum has a movie on. It's one he hasn't seen before but it's got that blonde everybody used to be so crazy over. He didn’t see her appeal. Aside from a nice pair of tits, he never thought she was that talented. He rolls his eyes as he sits. 

His mum laughs. “I know yeh don’ like Marilyn, but trust me on this’un.”

Before long, Eggsy's laughing at the plight of the two cross-dressing musicians on the run from the mob. His eyes go wide at the ending. “I thought this was an _old_ movie. Did they really just… Oh that was brill. Still don’ care much fer Marilyn, but them other two blokes? Yeh find more wit’ them an’ I’ll watch wit’ you.”

They talk about their favorite movies and how they don't make them like they used to. Old movies are Eggsy's guilty pleasure. He likes modern movies well enough. He'd go with his mates whenever they had the dosh. But his mum liked the old ones and that's what he grew up with. 

Those were the good memories. Before Dean, or if he was out, they'd dig out the VHS tapes, hook up the battered player, and curl up on the sofa with a bag of microwave popcorn. For a couple hours everything was right in the world. And if Eggsy was daydreaming of himself as the ingénue being swept off his feet by the tall, dark, and handsome older leading man? Well, no one ever knew.

It's tempting to just sit there all night and talking about nothing, but it's late, he's sleepy, and it's back to work in the morning. Eggsy goes upstairs to give Daisy one last good night kiss as she sleeps, then gives his mum one at the door. They stand there in a long hug. Reluctantly it's broken, with Michelle cautioning Eggsy to be careful. He reassures her he always will be. _Until he decides not to be anymore_ , but he never tells anyone that.

Tempting as it is, as it has been every time, to just stand there and let the worst happen, he can't. He hates himself more than just a little that he can't, that he hasn't the courage. But it's not just that. He can't hurt his mum like that. Can't hurt his precious little flower. He knows that pain. He can imagine it plain as day what it will look like on their faces when Merlin comes to tell them. He can feel their hearts break the way his own is broken. And always (so far) in that split second he makes the decision to dodge, to run, to shoot. To somehow find a way to endure the pain that never goes away and won't ever get better.

Despite having been sleepy five minutes ago, the walk back wakes him. There’s just the slightest chill in the air from the very mild winter they’re having. He turns up the collar of his jacket, shoves his hands in fists into his pockets, and walks right past the turn onto Stanhope Mews. He’s not ready to go home. Doesn’t know where he’s going, just that home isn’t it. 

He walks up through the park. It’s late and it’s officially closed, but no one notices as he walks, somewhere between leisurely and resolute, past Kensington Palace. A year ago, every copper on the beat would’ve been following him. Eggsy knew then that he was out of place. His manner and gait would’ve given him away, even if he was dressed to the nines. His clothes are the same sort of casual sportswear he would’ve worn back then, but Kingsman taught him how to be at home wherever he found himself. Whether it was darting into a brutalist tower block in Moscow to buy drugs, milling about the Champs de Elysee following a mark and playing the tourist, or just cutting through Hyde Park on a late night stroll. Eggsy fits in everywhere perfectly.

The city seems darker and quieter than he remembered from the nights when he’d take off walking to escape the too-close confines of their flat and get away from Dean and his dogs. Six months on and the recovery is still slow going. There are patches of the city that are entirely dark, without electricity or other essential services. Other neighborhoods are nearly depopulated; the local violence had been so devastating. Not here, of course. Not where the rich people lived. To look at the rows of flats and townhouses, you’d never know that anything had happened. The outside always looks perfect. The people in the houses carry the brokenness on the inside. Just like him.

After he exits the park, he keeps walking straight. He has a fair familiarity with London and while it isn’t the Knowledge, he trusts he won’t get lost. He weaves through some residential areas along the way. Old habits die hard. He can’t help sizing up the row houses as to which are likely candidates for a little B&E. With his new skill set, that’s nearly all of them. He vaguely considers doing it. Not to steal, just to… keep a finger in the pot so to speak. Break in, wander around someone’s perfect little home while they’re upstairs asleep. See how they live their lives. Maybe take a bottle of lager out of the fridge, or rearrange their knick-knacks on a shelf. He wouldn’t get caught and even if he did, it would be mere minutes before Merlin had him sprung.

Before the urge solidifies into action, Eggsy is crossing over the Paddington tracks on Bishop’s Bridge, somehow having fallen into heading north. His mind skirts around admitting where he’s headed, but when he’s still going north and passing the cricket grounds into one of the dark areas, there isn’t any denying it. He’s headed home.

The Alexandra Road estate has been abandoned by any decent sorts of people since V-day and so the city never bothered to restore services. It’s slated for destruction if they ever get around to it, although there’s been talk of a conglomerate rehabbing the flats into luxury apartments. Right now though, it’s nothing but squatters and addicts and criminals. Pretty much little change, Eggsy thinks, even though he knows that’s not true. During the day, there were families and kids and just sort of everyday normal people going about the business of their lives. That’s all gone now.

He hits the wide terrace of Rowley Way and springs himself up onto a six inch wide ledge, taking off free running. Even in the dark, his feet and hands remember the path to get up to his old sixth floor flat. Last time he was here he’d fixed the front door where it had been kicked in. Someone’s done it in again and what little he’d left behind has been trashed. There’s nothing here that even vaguely resembles the home he grew up in.

Eggsy kicks his way through the debris on the floor to get to his bedroom. Even the mattress has been taken, probably moved by a squatter to one of the lower level flats that’s more protected from the rain that comes in the broken windows. There’s the remnants of a poster on the wall that he remembers putting there when he was 13. Someone’s dragged in one of those cheap plastic chairs and Eggsy sits in it, looking around at the four walls that described his life for so long. It’s been just over a year since he slept here, but it might as well have been a lifetime ago. He promised himself he wouldn’t change too much, but that was inevitable, wasn’t it. Kingsman taught him to fit in anywhere. And so he fits in everywhere, but here.

Part of him is sitting there wanting someone to interrupt him, to challenge his right to be there. Give him a good excuse for a fight. But life ain’t the movies and instead he just sits there staring at the walls until the sky begins to lighten through the shattered glass. The bus used to stop on Abbey Road down at the end of the Way, but now it just rattles past him heading from the brighter lit parts of Camden to Regents Park.

“Merlin?” He slips his glasses from his pocket, puts them on and taps the earpiece. “Wanna send th’ cab to get me?”

“You all right lad?”

Merlin sounds like he woke him up. He must’ve gone home and probably has Eggsy’s feed sent straight to him wherever he is. Eggsy remembers he’s supposed to be pissed off at being spied on, but in the grimy morning after not having slept all night, he just can’t muster the energy to care. 

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Just don’ feel like walkin’ back, yeh know?”

“Stay there at the bus stop as long as it’s safe and we’ll have you in ten minutes. I’m sending the driver your tracker, so if you have to leave, he’ll find you.”

“‘K.” Eggsy’s back slides down the leaning bus sign post and he sits on the cold concrete waiting for his ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm.

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be updating around once a week, perhaps twice if it keeps going good. 
> 
> I'm over on tumblr at [von--gelmini](von--gelmini.tumblr.com). Stop by and say hi sometime.


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